


Blood(y) mage

by jenna_thorn



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 05:37:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5654416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenna_thorn/pseuds/jenna_thorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>armor upkeep as character study:<br/>The awl, needle, and blade that Dorian had been using looked like they’d been abandoned, left to rust, found by an exile while travelling at highest speed, then used inexpertly by someone who had seen armor made and repaired but only from a distance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood(y) mage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [owlmoose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlmoose/gifts).



Bull settled onto the ground. Varric had pulled up a log, and Dorian had spread out his cloak so carefully that even the corners were straight on the uneven ground, but this way he could stretch out a little more. Plus he could see all three of his current travel companions and the open space at their backs, but he was trying not to linger on that. He’d volunteered for this, promised to guard the skinny, twitchy elf currently hacking at plants between their smudgy little campfire and the cliffs that lead to the sea, but he felt the missing Chargers like a hole in his side. Been too long since he was on his own. He peeled open his kit and started rubbing the sweet wax into his pauldron. Behind him, the ‘Vint muttered something under his breath, all sibilants and snakes, so quietly that he couldn’t make out words, and Varric didn’t twitch. 

Dorian shoved his finger into his mouth and Bull frowned. Bad habit, that, and one the kid needed to get out of quicker rather than later. He stretched out, rolling up on his hip to tug at the mess of straps in Dorian’s lap. “Not used to doing your own tailoring, eh?” Dorian rolled his eyes, but what caught Bull’s eye was the strap that he was replacing. No, not replacing, using to replace the strap in his hands. “Pavus, hate to break this to you, but this? This should be on the scrap heap. It’s gonna wear through in….” He took in the damage on the strap currently in use and Dorian’s suddenly stiff back and put it together. “If Harrit’s being difficult …”

“I can fight my own battles.”

“Not with armor falling off, you can’t.” He changed tactics. “And you can’t watch my back, either. So consider this self interest.” He dragged his kit and poked around in it. “Here, give me that and use this one. It’s too long, because you are a hollow chested little dandy, but it’s not already worn to a whimper.”

“I’ll whimper you, you overgrown lout. I’m am ideally sized for a civilized world of doors and streets rather than…” he gestured to the sky full of clouds with stars peeking through and the cliffs towering over them and the space between that showed the sea disappearing into the dark night creeping over the horizon. Dorian huffed, but the sting was out of his tail and the steel out of his spine. 

Bull tugged the worn leather off Dorian’s lap, and Dorian let him. The end was smeared, dark in the dying light. He sniffed. “How bad did you cut yourself?”

“Not badly enough to concern you. It’s just a scratch.”

Bull put his hand up and waited. Dorian rolled his eyes, then placed the back of his hand in Bull’s palm. “It’s nothing.”

Bull pressed the edges of the cut together. It’d heal, and the way they were going, Dorian would be forced to down a healing potion at some point tomorrow anyway. “It’s a dull awl, is what it is. Your kit sucks. Lavellan, how are you going to recruit more pretty mages with such leadership skills? You suck, too.”

Varric said, “Ruffles,” but Mahanon laughed and spoke over him. “I’m not a leader. I got suckered into this by a hole in the sky and a Seeker with a shield bigger than I am wide.” The elf flashed a rude gesture with the glowy hand and Bull grinned. “And you wish I sucked.” Varric snorted and Dorian shook his head.

Bull caught Lavellan’s eye and nodded when Lavellan grinned, sudden and bright. Poor guy got it up to his ears back at Haven with the titles and the Holy Herald hoo ha. He turned back to Dorian. “I gotta do everything around here. Look, these are good enough for clothing, maybe….” They really weren’t. The awl, needle, and blade in Dorian's hands looked like they’d been abandoned, left to rust, found by an exile while travelling at highest speed, then used inexpertly by someone who had seen armor made and repaired but only from a distance. “But until the Boss gets off his ass,” he raised his voice on the last few words and Lavellan shot him another gesture, still with his left hand, probably still obscene, but one Bull didn’t know. Maybe something Fereldan, or maybe Dalish. “And until we put hands on better, here, use mine.”

“I cannot take your kit,” Dorian sputtered, and Bull snorted. 

Varric interrupted. “And you aren’t. Here” He tossed a cloth bag, arcing it high to clear the fire. Dorian caught it with his injured hand, flinched and dropped it to his lap. Varric continued, “Pick out the stitching on the bag and it’s always been yours.”

The edges of Dorian’s eyes wrinkled, just a bit, a match to the tightening around his mouth, then he sighed and pulled open the bag to assess its contents. “Ruffians and thieves, we are.”

“I am a poacher and scavenger, thank you very much,” Lavellan said. The sky had darkened enough that the flickering fire lit his face from below, elongating his ears and lengthening his hair, loose around his shoulders.

“Mercenary and rebel, don’t forget,” Varric added, though he never looked up from his crossbow. 

“And we’re gonna save the world,” Bull finished. He tossed the worn strap into the fire and watched it burn unevenly, the frayed ends curling around where Dorian’s blood shadowed the rest.

**Author's Note:**

> For owlmoose, whose prompts included meta and character studies.


End file.
